The Pit Town Coronet Volume Ii Part 15

The child and the one kitten undoomed to a watery grave were carried off by the _bonne_.

"That chap's a devil of a temper, Georgie," said the husband with a laugh. "Case in point, my dear," he continued; "we keep one kitten and drown the rest, and there doesn't seem anything very horrible about it after all; and that's what we of the upper cla.s.ses, Georgie, have morally to do with our own offspring. It's on exactly that same principle that little Lucius will have to get our money and our land, while _that_ poor little chap and his brothers and sisters, if he should have the misfortune to have any, will have to rub along as best they can. You and I, Georgie, will have morally to perform the functions of the stony-hearted gardener."

Haggard kissed his wife, then he ran his hand meditatively over the infant's soft scalp; he began to whistle a tune, and left the room.

It may be very unnatural, it may be very inartistic, but this being merely a veracious chronicle, it has to be told that Georgie loved the little Lucius quite as much and with exactly the same affection that she felt for the infant she fondled on her lap. Totally inexplicable, you will say; but so it was.

Georgie had never grudged to the little Lucius his share of her own and her husband's affection. She and her husband were young people; they might have a large family growing up round them, but they were wealthy, and they had large expectations, so that a child more or less to people in their position in life did not very much matter. But to give a little stranger a full share in the domestic pie is one thing, and to rob one's own children for the sake of the same little stranger is another. The more Georgie thought the matter over the more monstrous and impossible seemed her position. She would make an appeal to her cousin's mercy, to her cousin's sense of justice. But she felt morally certain that Lucy would never consent to an _eclairciss.e.m.e.nt_, or to the making a clean breast of the whole long-buried scandal to her cousin's husband.

Gradually the infant on her lap, her husband's legitimate heir, dozed gently off; Mrs. Haggard placed him in his cot and proceeded to darken the room; as she did so the door opened and her cousin's smiling face appeared.

"I want to talk to you, Lucy; I want to talk to you about baby," said Georgie with gravity.

"Nothing the matter with him, dear, I hope, is there?"

"Oh, he's well enough as to his bodily health. It's his future I'm alarmed about. What do you suppose my husband told me to-day, Lucy? He told me, as a matter of course, that my baby was to be sacrificed to Lucius, because, forsooth, Lucius is the elder. I nearly told him then, Lucy. I _must_ tell him, I shall have to tell him sooner or later."

"And when you do so, Georgie, you will have the satisfaction of seeing the last of your cousin. When I told you that I would fling myself into the lake if you betrayed me, it was not the mere idle vapouring of a foolish girl. I said it, and I meant it. Do you think for one single instant that your husband would keep my secret? The scandal has blown over, Georgie; you and I are its sole depositories. My secret and my sin are both dead, buried for ever in the silent past. You swore you would never betray me, Georgie, and having sworn it you must keep your oath.

Don't think for an instant that any ambition on my part, Georgie, makes me wish to see Lucius supplant your children. Oh that he were only dead, then at all events I should be safe."

Gradually, however, the girl became calmer, her manner to Georgie got softer and more caressing. "Keep my secret, Georgie dear," she said; "it'll be another twenty years before your children are men and women. I may be dead before that, please G.o.d I shall. Anyhow there'll be quite time enough to take your husband into our confidence, if it must be so.

But I couldn't face him yet, and I couldn't face uncle. I must hold you to your promise, Georgie. You swore never to betray me, and you never shall."

Reginald Haggard's wife pleaded with the girl; she argued, she entreated, but she never threatened.

"It may come out after all, Lucy," she said, "and then think of the shame, the disgrace and the scandal."

"The only way in which it could come out, dear, would be if Capt knew something about it. He evidently has no suspicion, or he would have come to us for hush-money long ago. Besides, Georgie, there's hope left to me yet," and here the girl's face grew almost diabolical as she hissed across the table in a low whisper, "_Lucius is but a little child, dear; he may die!_"

"I can't believe, Lucy, that the worst of mothers could deliberately wish for her own child's death. You took a base advantage of my affection in entrapping me into a promise of secrecy."

"An oath, my dear."

"An oath or a promise, whichever you like, Lucy. I'll keep your secret, you may rely on that, whatever it may cost me. But I love the child (and you know you can trust me, Lucy Warrender), so be you sure of this.

You dared to wish for the child's death. Should any danger menace him from you--you his own mother, worthless woman that you are--that instant your secret shall be a secret no longer. I will sacrifice my own happiness, the future of my own children, to you; for your sake I have deceived my husband, and I will go on deceiving him, but I will protect the child's life from you, Lucy Warrender, at whatever cost. Your very presence is a danger to him. After what you've told me, it is impossible that you and he can live under the same roof. You hate him, your own unhappy friendless child. I banish you from his presence, Lucy, from this day forth."

Lucy Warrender gazed at her cousin in astonishment; their _roles_ were changed; no longer young Mrs. Haggard looked at her cousin with patient pleading eyes; her foot beat the floor with suppressed excitement, and though she never raised her voice, she continued in an angry but determined tone:

"Yes, Lucy, you must go, and quickly; you shall no longer poison my home with your presence. You have brought sufficient misery to me and mine."

There was a something in the way young Mrs. Haggard had spoken that convinced Lucy Warrender of her sincerity.

Her cousin turned and left the room without a word.

That same evening Miss Warrender announced her intention of making a long-postponed visit to some friends in town. In vain her uncle remonstrated, and pointed out that her presence was expected with the rest of the family at Walls End Castle.

"I couldn't stand it, uncle," she said; "we are quiet enough and dull enough here, heaven knows; but a month at the Castle would be too dreadful. Besides it is Georgie who is the old lord's favourite. I don't think I'm in his good books at all. I've put off and put off this visit so long, that if I don't make it now, I never shall. And even London out of the season is to my mind preferable to the oppressive magnificence of the Castle. Lord Pit Town is Reginald's relative, not mine; I should only be in the way, Uncle."

And so it was arranged.

Lucy went to her friends in town, and from their house she commenced a round of visits. She corresponded regularly enough with her cousin, and there was nothing very remarkable about the letters that were interchanged. Not one word was dropped by either cousin on the subject of the family secret. Perhaps a letter written about this time from Lord Spunyarn to his friend Haggard may throw a little light upon the way in which Miss Warrender amused herself.

"The Club House, "Royal Yacht Squadron, Ryde.

"13th August, 18--.

"DEAR HAGGARD,

"Here I am swaggering about this place in a blue coat and bra.s.s b.u.t.tons, like the other sham sailors. I'm quite out of the hunt here, however, for I can't pretend to understand the jargon of the thing. Old and new measurements, tonnage, time allowances and movable ballast, are all a sealed book to me. Of course I go on to the balcony with the other idiots to stare at the matches, and, like them, I have to pretend to manifest an intelligent interest.

"To use a nautical simile your wife's cousin is 'carrying on'

here. If I didn't know her so well I should think she meant marrying. Half the men here, including old Marlingspike, the venerable commodore, dance attendance upon her from morning till night, and she certainly looks a very bright little, tight little craft in her nautical get-up, which is the regulation thing with the women here. They say that little Jack Hornpiper proposed to her the other day; it looks rather like it, for he has suddenly started for a lengthened cruise in the Mediterranean.

"I suppose by this you have begun wiring into Pit Town's grouse, though I hear he does not keep a very big head of game on the place. When Hetton comes into it, it won't be much better, for of course all his spare cash will go in horses. I too have an invite for Walls End, but it is only just for the festivities, which everybody declares are given in honour of your wife and her boy, and to spite Hetton. He, of course, is furious. He swore at first he wouldn't put in an appearance at all, but a good many of the people here are going, and Hetton'll have to show, if only to keep his Jews quiet. The Barringtons, who as you know were never great favourites, have been quite the rage here since Miss Warrender's arrival. They are asked everywhere and go everywhere for the lady's sake, which is very good of them. The Charmington is going to astonish us all in a three-nights engagement at the local theatre; her benefit is announced under the special patronage of H.R.H. She has gone off terribly, but her hair is more luxuriant and golden than ever.

"Miss Warrender bids me tell you that she shall make a final attempt to _rescue_ Hetton on her arrival at Pit Town's place.

For your sake, old fellow, I hope she won't succeed, but I have known more unlikely things happen even than this.

"Sincerely yours, "SPUNYARN."

Lucy Warrender enjoyed herself thoroughly during her stay at Ryde. Mr.

Hornpiper's misfortune had been a true bill. Lucy Warrender encouraged everybody, and it was not her fault if enthusiasts like little Hornpiper cut short the delightful period of their acquaintance with the lady by proposing to her.

It has been said that a s.h.i.+p is a prison, to which is added the possibility of being drowned; this is particularly the case in regard to a yacht. Theoretically, yachting is a delightful pastime; practically, it is an exceedingly expensive foible, combining the maximum of probable discomfort and boredom with the not unremote contingency of possible danger. Given the most delightful weather, a big and well-found yacht and a really good cook, given that the cruise has been a short one, that everybody has done his or her best to make things comfortable; yet how uncommonly glad we all are to bid our host and his dear delightful daughters good-bye--and how uncommonly glad they must be to see the last of us. If any of our friends were to invite us to come and stay with them and eat tinned provisions for a fortnight, we should indignantly decline, but if we are asked to do it on board a friend's yacht, we accept with effusion, and for at least a week or two before we brag of the high old time we are going to have. I am afraid Lucy Warrender and her friends the Barringtons were only fine-weather sailors after all, but they were very popular.

There was no false pride about Lucy Warrender. When she met her old friend and rival, Mrs. Charmington, upon the pier, she shook hands with her at once. In the days when Mrs. Charmington was a leader in society, little Jack Charmington, her husband, had been tacitly ignored; but now his wife was very glad indeed to have him constantly at her elbow, and she introduced him to everybody.

"You must know Jack, Miss Warrender," she said, as they shook hands. "I don't know what I should do without him, my dear," she continued. "He always leads the applause in front, you know, and he talks to the professional people for me, when I have the misfortune to meet them in the daytime."

"Doosid responsible position, Miss Warrender, I can tell you; one needs a const.i.tution of iron, Miss Warrender; they're so awfully hospitable, that talking with them first always means drinking with them afterwards.

It's bad enough for my wife to have quitted the scenes of her former triumphs for the coa.r.s.er joys of the play-house. But dramatic talent, my dear young lady, will a.s.sert itself. If my wife had been Empress of all the Russias, sooner or later her destiny would have declared itself, and she would have sought the only sphere which could content a woman of her talent and ambition."

Now Mrs. Charmington's talents as an actress were microscopical. She was good looking, she had a decently good memory, and she was a dogged, plodding woman, with a good eye to the main chance. Her principle was to buy a fairly good article, to pay a good price for it, and then to make her little experiment upon the body of the vile, by hacking her piece through the provinces, say for six months; and then producing it for a short London season. There is no doubt that by time and patience it is possible to get even a little child to recite a piece of poetry with a certain amount of effect, and so it was with Mrs. Charmington. It must be remembered first, that Mrs. Charmington did not buy rubbish. She went to the great Mr. Breitmann, and she made a bargain with him. Breitmann was a man of five-and-forty; he stood six feet in his stockings, he was fair, with a quant.i.ty of light curly hair, and he had big fat fingers, which were perpetually playing upon an imaginary pianoforte; when they weren't running over an invisible keyboard, Mr. William Breitmann was engaged in extending them separately, one after the other, in a succession of violent cracks. Now the reason Mrs. Charmington went to Mr. Breitmann was, that Breitmann was a particularly independent person, who declined dancing gratuitous attendance upon Mrs. Charmington or anybody else. In vain had she favoured him with a royal command, written upon crocodile paper, headed by a magnificent monogram, illuminated in many colours, in which Mr. Breitmann was informed that "Mrs. Charmington would be pleased if Mr. Breitmann would kindly call upon her on Tuesday, at three, as she wished to talk over a matter of business with him." A rude and cruel answer, short and to the point, came by return of post:

"MADAM,

"I have no business with you.

"Yours obediently,

"W. BREITMANN."

Then she sent an amba.s.sador. Jack Charmington called four times upon the dramatist at his club, but even then, after bribing the page boy to indiscreetly admit that the great Breitmann was on the premises, he still found him sufficiently difficult to approach. As Jack stood in the little bare den marked "Strangers' Room," he heard voices in loud talking, with occasional shouts of laughter; then he heard a gruff and angry voice grunt in an irritated manner, "Charmington, what is Charmington? I don't know Charmington. Tell him to go to----." And here a door slammed violently.

The page boy entered the strangers' room and communicated to Mr.

Charmington the fact that the great man was busy.

"Did you tell him I wanted to see him on business?"

"They all say that, sir," replied the boy; "he's a very busy gentleman Mr. Breitmann, sir, if you please."